Second Born, Second Best
by ariestess
Summary: I am resigned to my fate, but that doesn't stop me from fantasies of what will never be. Series: Part 2 of the Adsum, Domine series
A/N: This whole series of ficlets that allows me to delve into the minds of these new characters has been fascinating me. It's a definite stretch for me as a writer, which I always adore. I am fully aware that what I've written here is fanon and head canon speculation. If this head canon should be Jossed, just consider this a canon divergence, okay? And for the record? I haven't written anything with the darkness of a couple paragraphs in this story. It both thrilled and terrified me. I kind of hope it happens again. I liked being that surprised and startled that this could come from my own brain, with the help of a new muse.

Dedication: Glen Mazzara, for creating the character; Melanie Scrofano, for bringing the character to life; and my muses, for always keeping me on my toes.

Please see profile for Disclaimers.

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"I'm just average and in my family, that's kind of unacceptable."  
\- Veronica Selvaggio, episode 01x04 "The Number of Man"

Amani likely thinks I'm some kind of self-deprecating woman, just vain enough to seek out praise from others. Oh, if only it could be that simple. There is one person's approval that I crave, and I'll never receive it. No matter what I do, I'll never live up to the precious person that is my older brother.

How do you compete with the product of an ancient prophecy?

That's right. You can't. _I_ can't.

Faced with such stark futility, you'd expect me to just accept that I will forever be second born and second best. He's not even her son, but she loves him more than she does me. He was borne of a lowly, mangy jackal. I survived and was sustained in her womb, shared a common bloodstream. But who does she revere and dote on?

Damien.

Just his name causes a surge of rage, red tingeing my vision. If left to my own devices, that Megiddo dagger she keeps in her shrine would be buried in his chest to the hilt. And as the blood filled his lungs and slowly choked and drowned him, I'd turn around and slice her throat open so she can bleed out with her precious Deliverer.

Watching them die together is something that should repulse me. And yet, I find a kind of solace in that macabre fantasy. As the years have passed, the fantasy grows stronger. Knowing how hard she and Uncle John are working to get him to fulfill his destiny only fuels my hatred even more.

A part of me wishes I could seduce him, take from him one of the things she wants most. If it weren't for Amani, I'd consider it more strongly. But it's truly not a valid option. Amani is nothing more than a part of my job, another means to keep tabs on my brother. Perhaps, in another life, I might be able to have a future with Amani, find love and happiness in a family where I belong, where I'm wanted and cherished for who I am. Not reviled and ignored for who I'm not.

But that is just one more fantasy that will never come true. I am a minor cog in a massive machine. There are others to replace me. If I was gone, no one would miss me.

Especially my mother.

If I was out of the picture, she'd no longer need to put on the pretense of caring about me. Everyone who knows her is more than aware of her utter devotion to my brother. They may not know the true extent of her devotion, but they understand enough to understand his place in her life. Few of them know that I'm her daughter. That I have my father's last name only further cements the disconnect between us.

Perhaps I should just grab her precious knife and coat the blade in a fast-acting poison. Then when she next chooses to deepen her devotion by opening up her scars, she can die for him and set me free. What I wouldn't give to watch her, like I'd been forced to in the past, bearing witness to the perfect son; only this time, I could bear witness to the death of my captivity to her cause. Seeing the realization dawn on her face as the poison takes hold, spreading through her body with each beat of her heart: rapid at first, but slowing as the light ebbs from her eyes.

Yes, perhaps that's a better way to go. Realistically I'll never get close to Damien to actually stab him with anything, let alone any of the Megiddo daggers. There are too many people dependent upon him rising to his place of power and ascension. They have waited all these years, patient and diligently obsessed. There is no way they'll allow all of their plans and the prophecy to "accidentally" die with the Beast.

No, better they make an example of me if I should step out of line at all. It's not like anyone would step up to my defense. Not at Armitage, not in the greater organization, and certainly not within the falsely loving embrace of my supposed family. Maybe Uncle John would at least hesitate before giving the order to have me taken out.

My mother wouldn't. She's made it abundantly clear over the years where I stand compared to Damien. If push came to shove we all know who she'd choose. A part of me is at peace with that. It's taken my entire life to get to that point. I'm not so fully at peace to be able to walk away completely. No matter what else she's done or not done, she's still my mother. And the Beast must rise to his destiny.

I am resigned to my fate, but that doesn't stop me from fantasies of what will never be. Perhaps one day I'll find the courage to act on them. But that's unlikely. I've been trained well to my lot in life.

As Mother said, Damien and the prophecy are worth more than anything and anyone else.


End file.
